Infernal Concert
by Maknatuna
Summary: Team Free Will is a metal band with Crowley as their producer. They have to perform five songs at a metal festival. It wouldn't be a big deal had there not been a small problem – all the members of the band are hammered. Will they be able to perform at the festival and keep Crowley sane? Rated M for a lot of swearing.


Beta'd by Zana Zira. Thank you!

* * *

Team Free Will, a metal band consisting of four members, was sitting and drinking in a dressing room so small that it was hard to breathe.

It was August, 2014. A huge festival called 'Monsters of Heavy Music' took place in Finland, and lasted for two weeks. The participants of the festival were such famous bands as AC/DC, Metallica, Judas Priest, and Manowar. Teem Free Will had been lucky to be among them, and after their performance they instantly gained the public's love and fame.

The festival had ended two days ago and the members of Team Free Will were celebrating their significant victory. Despite the killing heat and the fact that everyone was sweating awfully, the guys didn't want to leave the makeup room.

Everyone was drunk beyond belief. Their condition could have been easily described as 'who the fuck am I and why?'

Dean Winchester, or the frontman of the group, didn't break his tradition and kept hollering that he fucking hated vodka, then drank 10 shots, added 2 cans of beer and smoked a half pack of Marlboro.

They were discussing (at least that's what they thought they were doing) some technical details when their producer Fergus Crowley ran into the room.

"Oh, there you are! I've been searching for you everywhere. Get up, you have a concert in one hour!"

"W-wwhaat?" Dean stammered.

"What concert?" Castiel was trying to figure out how many Crowleys there were in the room.

"Emergency situation, boys. It was decided that Morbid Angel, Cannibal Corpse and you will give a small concert. Each band will perform five songs. Here is a list of songs that you must perform." Crowley pressed the list to Dean's face.

Four heads towered above the list, frowning deeply at it.

The list read the following: 'Sons of Evil', 'Fear Garden', 'Purification', 'The March of Dead' and 'The Battle of Vigrid'.

"I can't play this!" Castiel poked the list with his finger, pointing at 'The March of Dead'.

"And why is that?" Crowley almost burned him with his gaze.

"Because… because it has a very fast solo and…and I can't play that right now," Castiel mewled miserably.

"I want to object about 'The Battle of Vigrid'" Dean exclaimed indignantly. "The whole song is performed in growling* and I can't do it right now. My voice is fucked!"

"I don't care!" Crowley screamed, startling and waking Kevin, who had had time to fall asleep. "The list has been discussed and approved. Get your asses up and get ready! You have exactly 30 minutes. When you are ready, give me a call!" Crowley ran out of the room at break-neck speed, probably fearing that the guys would throw something heavy at him.  
"Are they fucking serious? I suggest he tries doing blastbeats when he's drunk off his ass!" Kevin hiccuped and grumbled something under his nose.

"Dumb assholes!" Dean agreed with a nod. "There's no way out. We will have to do it. The main thing is not to throw up on the stage," the frontman of the band stated, suddenly turning green and running towards the bathroom.

"Hah, I don't envy anyone who will be standing in the front rows," chuckled Sam.

Suddenly something hissed, buzzed, and a black smoke stretched from under the bathroom door. There was short-circuit and the lights went out. Instantly, there was loud yelling coming out from the bathroom.

"Sammy, turn the fucking light on before I kick your ass!"

"It's not me!" Sam screamed hysterically in reply.

The door of the bathroom flew open, almost coming off the hinges. A very wet and frightened Dean Winchester stepped out. Under the dim light of a lighter he looked like a disheveled bird with eyes wide like saucers. It seemed that he never managed to defeat his fear of the dark. It was good that there were no children in the room under age of 10 who could see the frontman in that very minute, otherwise they would've been rewarded with enuresis from a mere look at Dean.

After seeing the exploded light-bulbs and finally believing that it was not Sam's fault, Dean changed his mind about kicking his brother's ass.

Despite the lack of light and losing the lighter, the guys were forced to change their clothes and do their make-up one by one in total darkness.

"Wanna go first, babe?" Dean asked Castiel, grabbing the smaller man and pressing him to his body. "Too bad I won't be able to see your delicious body in this dark but I can still touch it!" he chuckled, squeezing the lead guitarist's ass.

"No, you go first. It's alright," Castiel replied, smiling and kissing his lover quickly. "Go, we don't have much time."

Reluctantly, Dean released his grip and sighed when the rest of the band members went out into the corridor to get some air.

The older Winchester spun around like a tornado, attacked the wardrobe and began to pull out clothes, whatever his hands could grab. He quickly put everything on and sat down in front of a mirror to put on a scary corpsepaint*. Again by touch he found some brushes and jars and began to paint his face. Exactly 10 minutes later he ran into the corridor. It seemed that the lights had gone out in the whole building, as there was darkness in the corridor as well and no one was able to see each other.

Sam Winchester was the next one to go inside the dressing room. After some fussing and swearing, which could be heard in the corridor too, the younger brother calmed down. He needed much less time and returned to the corridor.

Castiel wreaked havoc in the room as he could not find his clothes. His desperate shouts could be heard outside. Suddenly fortune turned with her face to the young man and his hand grabbed something. The guitarist, happy with his finding, crawled into the wardrobe in hopes of finding his shoes. After some minutes, his satisfied voice filled the room, an obvious sign that Castiel found what he was searching for.

Kevin had decided to wear only a kilt and boots. He thought that females would love his appearance. It seems that he found the kilt and boots very quickly and returned in the corridor to join the rest of the band members there.

The guys went outside of the building and called Crowley. After 5 minutes a car with headlights on appeared and stopped in front of the small group of waiting men. The door of the car opened and their producer crawled out. As soon as Crowley approached them, the British man rolled his eyes and fell down on the ground unconscious.

The frightened musicians rushed to his side and started to slap the man in his face. After some efforts they were able to bring Crowley to his senses.

"What the bloody hell is this? Have you looked at yourselves?" Crowley screamed like a woman in labor. "Haven't you looked into a mirror?"

The band members took a look at themselves under the light from the headlights and gasped in shock:

Dean Winchester had white powder on his face and some patterns made with peanut-butter. In his rush the man had put on someone's (probably a guard's) pants, which were five sizes too big for him, and a shredded sailor's t-shirt. As for shoes, he was barefoot. Thank heavens he had found his long leather trench coat, which was covering all the mess. Crowley was forced to give him his belt, as Dean's pants were threatening to fall down to his ankles.

Sam was wearing a short red top that revealed his belly, trousers as wide as parachutes, and flippers. Where the hell he found flippers was a huge mystery.

The joy of finding his clothes was short-lived for Castiel. Instead of leather pants, he was wearing pajama pants with Mickey Mouse on them. He was bare-chested (probably wanting to show off his nice muscles to the public and maybe make Dean a bit jealous) and as for his shoes he was wearing rubber valenki. And worst of all, the lead guitarist was wearing a long yellow bathrobe, which probably was left in the dressing room by Crowley's lover last night.

Kevin was naked above his waist, as he felt more comfortable that way. Surprisingly, he had found his boots and was wearing them but as to his kilt, the drummer was not so lucky. In the darkness when he was desperately trying to find the kilt, Kevin had grabbed something, which he assumed was the kilt, but instead the young man had put on a pink tutu.

So now the group, looking ever so majestic, was waiting for their performance which had to start in 3 minutes and 52 seconds.

"There is no time to change clothes. Get your fucking asses in the car!" Crowley croaked and sniffed a vial of ammonia to keep himself from passing out again.  
The car with the band and their producer drove off to the stadium where Morbid Angel was performing their last song, after which the hammered members of Team Free Will had to perform.


End file.
